Stars had begun to dot the cobalt sky. She heard a car approaching the hotel long before she saw it. Delilah watched, waiting, wondering if Charlotte had finally returned. But, no. They were guests, a family in the maroon Rambler station wagon. They parked, then a couple and two children emerged, laughing and talking as they headed into the lobby.
Delilah forgot them. Our grandfather had a pocket watch. Another memory, long buried. She remembered the grandfather holding it up, dangling it before her. It was gold, ornately engraved with a peculiar symbol - An X with a triple-armed cross with tiny rubies set into the short middle ones and sort of a triangle with an upside-down cross at the bottom. At the top were his initials, H.H.B., and just above an infinity sign was something in Latin. He taught her what it said - Infurnam Aeris. It was the symbol of the secret club Henry Hank belonged to, and to this day she had no idea what Infurnam Aeris meant. Back then she’d thought it was a Christmas ornament he kept in his pocket.
More than the pocket watch, though, she remembered Henry Hank Barrow’s eyes. Despite being the same bright sapphire as Carrie’s and Adeline’s, with the same gold fleck, they seemed darker … and somehow frightening. And his golden spot was more of a stain, dark and disturbing. Or perhaps it seemed that way because his bushy salt and pepper eyebrows were always drawn down, bookmarking the deep vertical lines that made him look like he was frowning.
While Carrie’s death had affected her deeply, the grandfather’s was a bare blip on a radar screen. Delilah had never been close to him. He was a businessman, chilly and unapproachable, disinterested in the foibles of little girls.
Carrie hated him.
“He’s a bad man, Delilah. Stay away from him.”
Her sister’s voice returned, confounding her, making her wonder what else she’d forgotten about her childhood in Brimstone. Most likely there were many things - after all, she was very young when she’d been sent to Boston. That had been so exciting that everything else - except a few warm memories of Carrie - had fallen away. After a time, Delilah had even claimed to be born there.
I wanted to forget Brimstone. And it was no wonder.
But how did Carrie die?
There’d been an accident. Suddenly, she remembered running, and darkness, then dirt sifting onto her head and face, stinging her eyes. And screaming, far away. A swinging lantern had revealed something - but what? - and then eyes, dragon’s eyes, flaming cobalt and copper-red, staring into her soul.
Dear God. Dizzy, Delilah gripped the balcony rail. She’d seen those eyes in her nightmares for years after that. Seen them and run from them. How could I have forgotten? Aunt Beatrice had held and soothed her when she awoke at night screaming.
Grandfather called himself the Brimstone Beast.
The thought, unbidden and unwanted, shocked her.
The balcony began to tremble; she felt it beneath her feet and in the railing. Her head swam. She clung to the rail as the shaking strengthened. Another earthquake!
“The Brimstone Beast,” Holly read as she sat at the little round table in her room, “is at the heart of Brimstone’s folklore. The tale dates back hundreds, if not thousands, of years. The people who lived here long ago told tales of the Beast.”
Holly grabbed an apple out of the blue bowl in the center of the table, polished the red fruit on her shirt, then took a bite. Chewing, she returned to the folklore book.
“The legend goes that they once lived deep in the earth but were driven to leave by an evil shaman. They tunneled up and found the sun. The shaman - in the form of a serpent - chased them, wanting to claim the sun for himself.
“As the last of the Desert People climbed into the sunlight, the Hellfire Serpent was close behind. Just in time, a good shaman closed the hole, trapping the evil creature inside the earth. There it died and became the Hellfire Spirit.
“The native people continued to fear the spirit of the serpent and attributed earthquakes to its attempts to come to the surface. But after a while, the earth quieted and the local inhabitants felt they were finally safe, saying the evil spirit had fallen asleep. After that, when the occasional minor quake hit, they attributed it to the serpent rolling over in its sleep.
“After a time, the natives began digging for copper and made tools and jewelry out of the pliable metal. You can see some of these items at the Desert Museum in Lewisdale.
“Many years passed and the mining pits and trenches grew deep. According to legend, that’s when the trouble began once more. The story goes that the native peoples dug too close to the Hellfire Spirit and it woke up with a roar that shook the earth so violently that all the miners suffocated in a great landslide. Many other members of the tribe - those anywhere near the mining pits - lost their lives as well.
“The few who lived to tell the tale refused to work in the mine again, and the native peoples moved away from the Brimstone region, gradually mixing with other tribes. The tale of the evil Hellfire Spirit was then taken up by white miners and became the legend of the Brimstone Beast.”
As Holly reached for her apple, it rolled across the table, and the small television on the chest of drawers across the room began rattling. She felt vibrations beneath her feet and the hanging lamp in the middle of the room began swaying.
Earthquake! A big one! Feeling the rumble beneath her feet, Holly ran to the balcony door. As the rumbling became a roar, she stepped outside.
Everything seemed to be rolling in slow motion as she looked out over the town. Lights on the north side of Brimstone suddenly winked out. Then Main Street went dark as the ground calmed.
Another sudden jolt, so strong that Holly hung on to the rail to stay on her feet. The lights to the west extinguished.
Then the hotel went dark. And silent.
Breathing hard, more excited than afraid, Holly went back inside, shut the door and opened the blinds and drapes to let the scant moonlight into the room. It wasn’t enough; she dug her flashlight out and turned it on. It had new batteries and let her see that lots of books and the painting over the peephole was now face down on the floor. “Wow,” she breathed, relieved to see her Friar Tuck bank hadn’t fallen. The cobalt bowl of apples lay cracked, under the table, scarlet fruit everywhere. It reminded her of something, but what, Holly didn’t know.
Grabbing her room key, she stepped into the pitch-dark hallway and glanced toward the elevator just as the bellhop’s door opened. Her light glanced off his broad forehead.
“Hello?” he called. “Who’s that?”
No way! She turned the light toward the stairs at the end of the hall and ran, aware that Meeks was somewhere behind her, calling for her to wait. At the stairwell, she paused, torn between going up to her grandmother’s penthouse and heading downstairs.
“Holly Devine? Is that you?” Meeks was closer.
She took the stairs two at a time, racing up to her grandmother’s floor, sure he wouldn’t dare follow.
She reached Miss Delilah’s and rang the bell, then pounded on the door. She pressed the bell again as more little trembles vibrated into her feet.
“Miss Delilah!” she yelled.
At last, she heard noises inside; chain-locks being undone, a deadbolt turning. Then Frieda, in a housedress and slippers, and carrying a candle in a hurricane glass, opened the door. “Miss Holly! Are you all right?”
“Yes. Did you feel the earthquakes?”
“I did. I think everyone did.”
“Can I see my gr - Miss Delilah?” Holly made a move to step inside, but Frieda blocked the way.
“She’s not seeing anyone right now, honey.” Frieda’s face looked ominous in the flickering candlelight.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, don’t you worry.”
“Why can’t I see her?”
Frieda bent close and spoke very softly. “Miss Delilah is busy right now. Why don’t you come back in the morning? I’ll tell her you stopped by and asked after her.”
“But-”
Frie
da began to close the door.
Holly pulled the desperation card, letting her voice pitch higher. “But my mom isn’t here so I’m all alone and it’s dark!”
“You have a nice flashlight, mija. Why don’t you go down to the lobby and see Steve? I bet he’d love some company right now!”
“But-”
“I’m sorry. I have orders from Miss Delilah. You need to go back to your room or down to the lobby.” She paused, her face full of understanding. “I think that’s best. But take the stairs, not the elevator.”
The door closed.
21
Ghost in the Machine
The quake seemed to be over. Steven Cross, barely functional flashlight in hand, had just put a CLOSED sign on the elevator and was about to head to the utility room to start the generator when he saw the light bobbing down the stairwell. “Who’s there?” he called, expecting it would be a guest coming to find out what was wrong. Earthquake, sir. We have them every night for your pleasure, and twice on Thursdays.
“It’s me, Holly.” She shined the light under her chin.
“Hey, what are you doing here?”
“Frieda said you might like company.”
“I’d especially like yours, Holly. Frieda’s pretty smart.” He knew what it meant though - the girl had gone to her grandmother’s door and been turned away. Delilah Devine hated earthquakes almost as much as she hated being seen while frightened. “Bring your light. You can help me start the generator.”
“Okay!”
Holly’s smile delighted him and he led her to the copper-sheathed door across the lobby from the registration desk. “Here we go.” He turned the key and shined his light on the half-dozen steps that led down into the utility room. “Don’t trip.”
“Wow! This is great!”
It was a big space and they walked to the far end of the room to a smaller room where the generator was kept. He opened the door, then opened the windows and vents within the room and got to work. Holly held the light just where he needed without even being asked. “We usually use the generator two or three times a year, but it’s always been during storms - wind, snow, or thunder. This is the first time we’ve had to use it after a quake.”
“Really? Brimstone sure seems to have a lot of quakes!”
He laughed. “Only since you arrived!”
The generator roared to life and lights bloomed, dim, but a lot better than nothing. Steve double-checked everything then shut the generator room door behind them.
As they began walking back, Holly paused in front of a padlocked wooden door that led to the old basement rooms. It was painted the same dirty-white as the walls and nearly blended with them.
“Where does that go?” she asked.
“A basement - but the door is kept locked. No one’s allowed down there.” He began walking.
“Why?” Holly caught up.
“Too dangerous.”
“Why?”
Steve grinned. “You sure are full of questions. I don’t know for sure, but it’s in disrepair.”
Holly nodded. “Maybe earthquake damage? I read that the natives believed the Brimstone Beast caused earthquakes.”
“Indeed, they did.” Steve stopped walking. “Some people still believe it. But there’s a lot more to it than just the old tales. There are newer ones, too.” He grinned. “Still old, but from the days when this building was a hospital.”
“Really?”
“Yep.” He immediately regretted speaking - Delilah would not approve - and he didn’t need her to find out he’d been telling tales to her granddaughter. He needed a diversion. “Holly, follow me.” He led her past the boiler room toward the elevator shaft.
“Meredith told me you’re a ghost story fan.”
“I am! I think Miss Annie Patches visited me last night!”
“Some of the maids and guests have reported seeing her,” he said.
“I felt her walking on my bed - on me - and I heard her purr, I think. I hope I get to see her!”
“I hope so, too, Holly.”
“Do you know any other ghost stories about this hotel?”
“I do.”
They wound through a short walkway and arrived at the elevator shaft. Steve craned his neck, leaning into it, and pointed. “That’s the bottom of the elevator. It’s way up there, stopped on the fifth floor. See it?”
Holly stepped closer. “Yes.”
Steve spoke softly. “The hospital had a caretaker, a nice old man named Jack Purdy. He started working at the hospital not long after it opened. In fact, your great-great-grandfather, Henry Hank Barrow, probably hired him himself,” Steve added. “Jack did a fine job and stayed on. He maybe drank a little too much now and then, but he was a good guy. And he took really good care of the elevator - and everything else in this building that was mechanical. He loved machinery. In 1917, they replaced the original elevator with a brand new one - the one you’ve ridden in. It was state of the art - and Jack loved it and took very good care of it.”
“What happened?”
“Well, Holly, Jack was murdered.” Steve pointed at the floor where the elevator would land. “Right there.”
“Under the elevator? He was squished?”
Steve nodded. “Just his head. Rumor is that he owed someone money and they knocked him out, put his head under there, and had someone ride down and crush his skull.” He paused. “The elevator doesn’t actually touch the floor, but his murderer - and the accomplice who almost assuredly worked here - put a wooden crate under it to hold his head up high enough to crush it.” Steve decided not to tell Holly that it was likely that the murderer was Henry Hank Barrow himself. The old man was known to hate gambling and had a reputation for accusing his employees of theft.
Holly dragged her eyes from the murder spot. “Was it bloody?”
“I think it was probably pretty bad.”
“Are there bloodstains?” She looked eager.
“Probably on the crate, but that’s long gone.” He grinned. “Disappointed?”
“Maybe a little.” She studied the floor so intently that he knew she was hoping to spot a stain, no matter how tiny.
“They say Jack’s still here.”
“He is?”
“Well, he could be. Sometimes we hear the elevator going up and down all by itself. There’s no one inside the car, so we just say it’s Jack.”
“Have you heard it?”
“I have, maybe half a dozen times since I’ve worked here. But there’s no way to make that old Otis elevator run without both doors closed.” He shook his head. “It’s pretty mysterious.”
“Did you ever see it move by itself?”
Steve grinned. “Just once. The other night when I heard it start up from the fourth floor. It came down to the lobby and the outer door opened, but I didn’t hear anyone open the folding gate - so I walked over to see what was going on. I thought maybe kids were horsing around.” He paused. “But the cage was secure across the doorway and the elevator was empty. It was kind of creepy.”
“Wow!”
“And you know what?”
“What?”
“Before your grandmother came and renovated the building, the Clementine Hospital was closed for more than a quarter of a century. There wasn’t any electricity - just like tonight - and it was locked up tight - and still, people heard the elevator - and some even said they saw lights flash as it passed by different floors.”
“Oh, I want to see that so bad!”
Steve was amazed that Holly wasn’t spooked by the story. He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Once, I even heard the elevator when the place was boarded up, years before Miss Delilah came.”
“Tell me!”
“Well, I was fourteen and a bunch of us guys decided to camp out up here by the empty building. We stole some beers from my dad and brought them up. I’d only had a sip when I heard the elevator. We all heard it. It was going up and down. I could hear that and the bells as it stoppe
d at the different floors.”
“Wow, that’s so cool! What’d you do?”
Steve laughed. “We ran!”
Holly grinned. “That must’ve been pretty scary.”
“It was.”
“Have you ever seen Jack Purdy? Is he scary, like with a crushed head and stuff?”
Steve shook his head. “No one’s ever seen him. Sometimes things move around in the lobby and we say Jack did it - but he probably doesn’t even exist. It’s probably just a story.”
“Were his killers ever caught?” Holly asked as they took the stairs up to the copper door.
“No. His death remains a mystery.” Steve held the door open for Holly then locked it behind them.
She stared at the silent elevator. It was coming down. “I guess the power’s back on?”
Steve scratched his head. “The power isn’t on yet - see how dim the lobby lights still are? - and the generator doesn’t power the elevator.”
“But it’s coming . . .” Holly glanced at him, eyes wide.
The lobby light came on as the elevator touched down. Steve stepped forward and laid a hand on Holly’s shoulder. Despite saying there was nothing to fear, Steve felt almost as shook up as he did that night when he’d camped out with the guys.
Holly stayed put, eyes glued to the elevator as the doors slid open to reveal nothing but darkness behind the firmly shut brass accordion gate.
Chill air and the faint odor of alcohol wafted from the compartment. It wasn’t whisky, but a sharp, sterile tang. “Smell that?” Steve asked.
She nodded just as the accordion gate shivered, as if someone was waiting impatiently for it to open. “Rubbing alcohol.”
“Yeah.”
The gate shivered and rattled again, so softly it might have been a breeze.
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